When Kids Attack!

A sock in the eye, a bite on the arm — these are the war wounds of motherhood.

You expect all kinds of discomfort when you have a baby. First there are the mild to moderate to Are you kidding me twinges during pregnancy and the standard physical and emotional marathon of labor and delivery (plus ensuing flashbacks). Then you brace for the blinding pain of those first few days of nursing, the full-body aches and madness that come with sleep deprivation. Sure. Me, I signed up for all that. I was ready.

But then it turns out that your child continues to inflict pain upon you. The professionals couch this in terms such as boundary testing or tactile/kinesthetic exploration, but the fact is your kid will beat you up. At some point, when you least expect it, your child will engage you in a full-on frontal assault. Your delicate baby will sink her sharp, new little teeth into your lower lip. Your doe-eyed toddler will sock you right in the nose. It is almost inevitable.

Babies, as we are told, might bite or kick or punch or pull or grind because they are little scientists, innocently exploring their world by pummeling it into a mush. They don't mean any harm; they just want to see what will happen when they knock something senseless, is all. The important thing, the experts will tell you, is not to make a big deal of these playful experiments. Ignore. Or simply issue a firm "No." Do not yell or carry on. There's nothing a baby enjoys more than a dramatic reaction, naturally — your pained shrieking is, to them, delightfully novel!

Because I had read all about this feisty period in a baby's development, I was ready. (I might have practiced my firm yet dispassionate "No" on a few throw pillows. Maybe a stuffed animal. Who can say?) But the first time Henry decided to experiment (scientifically), his chosen subject was my mom. She didn't know what I and the experts knew. She had not been apprised of this new thinking. She was holding him and he was gurgling and cooing, and then his hand was a fist and it landed in her eye socket. She cried out in surprise and pain. I lunged forward to stop her, which further alarmed both her and Henry.

"You're not supposed to react!" I cried out. "The books say not to react!"

Later I thought, How is that a nice thing to say to someone who's just been struck? By your child? Which means it's somehow your fault? "The books say your human reaction is incorrect, Mom! Cease and desist your, uh, having it!"

My mother looked at me with her one good eye as if I had lost my mind. "You try not reacting to someone socking you in the face. Get me an ice pack."

Next, Henry set his sights on his father. The two of them were playing on the bed while I cooked dinner. A few minutes later, I heard an inhuman howl. Assuming a pack of coyotes was on a rampage in our bedroom, I burst in with my spatula, ready to protect my family. The tableau I found was not pretty. Henry, it seems, had indulged his curiosities by seeing what would happen if he kicked Scott between the legs as hard as he could. While Scott writhed and carried on, I tried to point out that maybe he shouldn't keep his legs that far apart while playing with a 2-year-old child. Which, it turns out, isn't a good thing to say to someone who's in that much pain. I then observed that Scott was making a lot of noise, and remember how you're not supposed to react? Scott? Remember? But that wasn't the right thing to say either. At any rate, Henry was really enjoying watching us both.

Nancy Louie/iStock

Weeks passed, and Henry decided it was my turn. I was holding him and chatting with a friend when, without warning or fanfare, my sweet baby reared his head way back and — ka-chunk — slammed his skull into my teeth. It felt like someone had shot a cannonball right into my face. I clutched my mouth, weeping, searching for signs of looseness or bleeding; Henry was weeping too, because I guess my teeth hurt his forehead (sorry, kid, this wasn't my idea). "Nooooo!" I wailed. I tried to sound firm and calm, but my tongue was rapidly swelling. "NooOooaaaagh!"

Defensive maneuvers

Henry's aggressive phase was brief, if vividly remembered. But while his behavior has changed significantly, the assaults continue. Children, even ones who have grown up enough to know that they shouldn't slam you in the head or the testicles, have only a vague understanding of how their bodies move through space. They're uncoordinated and given to spontaneous physical gestures. And they want to stand really close to you and show you their new toy with all its pointy parts. Or they want a piggyback ride and will, without warning, leap onto your neck, as you imagine your vertebrae collapsing like a busted ladder.

Henry's overall lack of body awareness and physical boundaries means, for instance, that he has several times run to hug me and knocked me over, or joyfully flung his newest Lego creation into my midriff. He won't hesitate to indulge a sudden desire to show me his toothbrush up close — so close it pokes me in the tear duct.

I don't want to tamp down his natural exuberance, yet I do want to live! Which is why I have created four essential techniques, drawn from the wisdom I gleaned during those two weeks I took tai chi:

The Unbending Bough: When your child is hurtling her entire body in your direction, tighten your core and shoot your arms out in front of you, parallel to the ground. Grab her as soon as she reaches you. It looks as if you're reaching out for a hug, but actually you're saving yourself. And no one has to know.

The Watchful Egret: Whether you're playfully wrestling, helping your child put on his shoes, or just sitting with him on the couch, always be aware of the location and status of each of the child's limbs. Never let your attention waver. This is especially true of the Feet. The Feet will get you. Usually square in the nose. Keep one hand free to sweep any wild or errant limb aside, before it can make contact with your face.

The Boa Constrictor: Has your kid had one too many cookies? Did he just watch another Star Wars movie, and is he acting out all the parts at the same time? If you can't calm his flailing, squeeze him into submission. It's the only way.

The Wincing Hedgehog: If you suddenly see an elbow coming toward a vulnerable area, curl up and cry out at the same time.

These moves can also help if your child enjoys wrestling with you. Although wrestling might seem counter to the whole keeping-your-parts-from-breaking goal, I recommend it. Flinging your bodies around for a bit (on a forgiving surface, of course) can help your child burn off some of the excess energy that might lead to his hurling a juice glass at your face during dinner. Most important, you're essentially just hugging most of the time, and your child doesn't even have to know it. After all, it can be hard to get a hug out of a 7-year-old boy, but it's easy to get a 7-year-old boy to submit to your Quantum Death Grip. Just make sure that this doesn't lead to Quantum Death Kissing, because then your child will be totally on to you.

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